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At the interview
J’s hired on the spot, full of
new employee glee.
Has it really been
a month since I told you all
about my day, dear?
J replaced my mouse
that broke. M’s card made me cry.
Both my greatest gift.
Deciding who to
take like negotiating
Mideast peace treaty.
The play was about
them. His unrequited love
her indifference.
Who will you be, and
from where? What will have brought you
here - mere chance or choice?
My weirdness is as
apparent in my kids as
streaks in a fake tan.
From a Revealing
start to this auspicious point -
my life in short form.
In wordless despair
M dissolves in tears clutching
me like a life vest.
An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.
We all complain there’s
no place to plug in. One by
one, our laptops die.
Haiku, like bonsai,
needs care and pruning. A mind
unfocused kills both.
Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”
Emily Bronte * labored quietly but I * scream “Here are my words!”
It’s said women swoon
at his rallies, yet his wife
once called him stinky.
It’s fun to see what
it’s like and then go back to
being nobody.
Like a hick I tilt my
head to see the top and
ponder tossed pennies.
I am the dull one, struck
mute by accomplishment
what I do, nothing.
a dilemma of
riches in tiny topaz
the art of language
“Read my poem? Please?”
In real life I’d get blank stares.
Here, you’re back for more.
Just over five months
This one four hundred fifty
Art or wasted time?
A haiku a day?
Not quite. Some days the tap runs,
some days it’s bone dry.
Days grow longer like
smiles that stretch wider as one
greets a long lost friend.
Reclaiming the word,
she grabs the bitch by the horns
and makes us all proud.
see also Inconstant blogger
That you’ve found me and
read my life in seventeen
syllables floors me.
see also Constant reader
Like a lover who
wanders I return here to
check in now and them
J9 can’t sleep since
her mother died stays up and
writes heartache in tears.
He drank to excess
so why am I the one with
the splitting headacne?
We watch bad TV
eat microwave popcorn feel
guilty not really.
Longing to hug them,
I wait ’til they flutter near
like moths to my flame.
We sleep late and do
little. Spend quality time.
Together, enough.
Teenager curled up
becomes baby J who’s glad
that mommy’s nearby.
greatness revealed in
the sound of splinters, words that
pierce my jealous eyes.
Crashed. Met Tailies. Then
Others. Hatch blew up. Kate caged.
Got Lost about there.
I stop posting in
the blogosphere. No one reads
me. Do I exist?
With short hair he looks
like a grey human baby.
He’ll never talk back.
Brainiac Barack
cheerleader Oprah campaign.
A Disney moment.
Could I love you if
we did not touch, if I did
not mark you as mine?
Like flickering tongues
of flame in green…blue…red. Just
plug in and enjoy.
Like speed dating, if
they make a good impression,
they come home with us.
Two tribes - In-laws and
Parents - force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.
Happy, they’re kittens
fluffy and sweet. Mad, they’re all
claws, spitting, hissing.
Small delicate word
studies of a larger life
viewed by an artist.
Some men hug, but G
envelopes, holds tight, then gives
back more than he takes.
J’s Pied Piper calls.
Mecca of offbeat fashion,
she shops in a daze.
She takes such care of
me, reads maps, keeps track of things.
A good friend, and more
Oprah and Barack
sit in a tree, campaign for
the Presidency.
Should I say what I
feel, or what attracts readers?
Tempting to sell out.